


Wicked

by pt_tucker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea/Mycroft Holmes Implied, BDSM, Dominant Irene, F/F, F/M, Irene Adler/Anthea Flirting, Irene's POV, Prompt Generator, Wingfic, but barely, some painplay, submissive Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/pseuds/pt_tucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Holmes is her client, but that doesn't mean he's the only one enjoying himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another fic inspired by the [moonblossom prompt generator](http://moonblossom.net/prompter/). Words used: Irene, Mycroft, Wingfic
> 
> Barely wingfic, though. It's basically general smut.
> 
> Not beta'd, sorry. If someone feels motivated enough to look it over for SPAG while they read along, that'd be awesome, otherwise enjoy!

The wax dripped down from the candle and onto the skin resting in between white feathers. White for purity and good virtue and knightly demeanor, or so the old tales went. Irene smirked and tipped the candle completely upside down. 

He jerked against the red silk tying his arms to the metal truss above his head, his biceps straining, but the fabric held. A low cry was all that could get past the gag, and even that petered off as Irene knelt down behind him and buried her hands into his wings. She threaded her fingers into the soft down feathers hidden underneath his adult plume, rubbing at the muscles as she soothed him with gentle shushing sounds.

“Have you been wicked, Mr. Holmes?” she asked the wax drying along his spine. The red stood out between his white wings like a temptation she wasn’t certain she could ignore.

“Unnn.” 

Maybe it was a yes, maybe a no. Hard to tell with the leather horse bit strapped between his teeth. It didn’t matter.

She yanked out one of his perfectly arranged feathers and allowed it to fall lazily towards the floor beside them. His gasp was more shock than pain, as loud as it may have been. The next one would hurt more, but by this time little could compare to the continuous ache of his knees on concrete. Irene would know. In this moment, his thin black jogging bottoms existed only for the sake of aesthetics.

Another came out, and this one Irene took with her as she rose to her feet. Holmes was breathing hard now, and trembling just slightly. It wouldn’t be long before he drifted away completely and Irene could consider her goal accomplished. 

She glanced over her shoulder.

Anthea had looked up from the desk she’d been quietly working at during their session, and was now examining her employer for signs of distress. Satisfied with what she found, she went back to her typing, leaving Irene and Holmes, for all intents and purposes, alone again. The keys clicked in a steady rhythm as she pressed down upon them. The sight might have been absurd if it hadn’t been so practical. So _Mycroft_.

They’d hauled the desk into the room sometime after Irene’s first appointment, during which Anthea had watched the proceedings from her position against the farthest wall. She’d looked at Irene with such distrust back then. Still did, at times, though it now warred with the tentative comradery they’d formed. And the flirting.

Irene took her feather and sashayed her way over to the other woman. Anthea placed a hand on the laptop as she drew closer, ready to snap it shut should Irene decide to misbehave. It was infuriating how good they both were, but oh so delightful as well. Irene hadn’t had this much fun in ages, and that was without counting the delicious noises that could only be pulled from Holmes after a good hour of dedication.

She placed the feather along the right side of the desk, smoothing it out so that the edges formed a continuous line. 

“Thought you might enjoy a present after all your hard work.” Irene ran her finger along the top of the desk lamp.

Anthea wasn’t subtle about dropping her gaze to Irene’s barely-hidden breasts before continuing on to look at the feather, but neither of them had been subtle in quite some time. She picked it up and placed it against her lips. “I’ll treasure it.”

Irene gave her a playful wink before spinning on her heel and swishing her way back over to her _actual_ client for the evening. Not that a lack of attention would decrease the night’s entertainment. Sometimes naughty boys needed to be put in time out while the big girls played.

She allowed her own black wings to brush the tops of his as she circled around to his front. He shivered, but that might have been from the cold basement floor he’d been forced to kneel on for the past hour. Or perhaps it was from the anticipation that maybe, _finally_ she might allow him to do something about that poor cock of his, so red and so swollen and so covered in the tight bands he so loved. Taking the riding crop from the top of the truss, Irene pushed the tail into the front of his bottoms and pulled them forward so that she could peer into the gap. 

“I’m impressed, Mr. Holmes. I do think you can handle another half hour, at least.” Irene’s lips twitched at his following groan. She slid the crop further in so that it rested beside his cock. 

Her fingers tapped along the black cloth they’d laid across the top of the truss. Various toys called to her from it – all of them light enough to do minimal damage should the truss ever collapse – but nothing sang quite as lovingly as the little key resting in a circle of gags. 

“You’ve been rather lazy today, haven’t you Mr. Holmes?” She slipped the key into the lock at the back of his bit gag. “Let’s see if we can’t put you to work.” 

The gag was barely on the floor when her fingers curled into his hair. She yanked him forward, directing his mouth to the space underneath her robe. Irene groaned as his tongue flicked out towards her clit. This was something she hadn’t taught him to do, and for that she was a tad disappointed, if only because she would have liked to watch. Whoever had whipped Holmes into shape had been a harsh mistress indeed; his tongue moved as if it was on fire, never stopping for a second, even as Irene had to press her hands into his shoulders to keep her balance. 

Anthea caught her gaze across the room, and for that brief eternity it was just the two of them, Holmes nothing more than a sex toy ready to be used and disposed of when they no longer had use of him. Irene rocked her hips into his face. She moaned and twitched as she all but wet herself on his mouth, but her eyes never left Anthea’s. 

“I believe that’s enough,” Anthea said, her words commanding but soft. Used to being obeyed.

Holmes stopped at once, and then he tentatively gave Irene a few more licks to clean up the remaining liquid. It wouldn’t keep. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart was racing and she was still horny beyond measure and dripping for more. But it was what he’d been taught by his mysterious mistress and so she didn’t chide him for his fruitless task.

“You’re quite good at that, Mr. Holmes. I’d love to meet the person who trained you.” Irene allowed her gaze to wander over to Anthea once again. She was back to her typing, but a smile crossed her face nonetheless. 

Oh, how Irene loved it when they played hard to get. The anticipation was half the fun, after all.

Smoothing down her robe, she drew off a chain of metal clamps from the black cloth and ran it across her palm. The clamps were rubber-tipped, but that was the only mercy the chain provided.

“Now then, Mr. Holmes,” she said, dangling it down so that it was fully visible to him. “Where were we?”


End file.
